


Obstacles

by thefalconnn (sex_drugs_moriarty)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possessive Behavior, Thor please keep your hands to yourself, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1924209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sex_drugs_moriarty/pseuds/thefalconnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(loosely based on an avenger-kink prompt, which is in turn loosely based on the book Atonement) </p>
<p>Thor's known that Loki is his since infancy, he's just been waiting for Loki to catch on.</p>
<p>And then comes Steve Rogers. </p>
<p>Thor knows what he must do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obstacles

Thor has always owned his little brother. From the time they were children, it has been he who turned Loki's eye, or brought him near.

 

He has been loud, boisterous where Loki has been quiet. He has been boorish where Loki is so very clever; brothers or not, Loki is the moon to his sun and he resolves to keep it that way.

 

Until he is replaced, by none only than Steven G. Rogers, who is soft spoken yet firm, not clever but assuredly intelligent. He is not Loki's soulmate; he is not his perfect match and he encroaches on territory that Thor has claimed almost since birth.

 

He is an obstacle, and he must be removed.

 

* * *

 

 

He is thirteen to Loki's ten when he first recognizes that his thoughts about his brother may very well be considered improper.

 

He is at the age where his groin stirs as he sleeps, and his dreams bright of toys and games are replaced with shadowy ones, full of caresses and handfuls of inky black hair on an unknown face.

 

He thinks not of the budding curves of Sif or Jane, but of the awkward, sharp angles of his little brother, the jut of his hip so prominent on his skinny frame.

 

He does not linger on the rouge red lips of Ms.Lewis, his tutor, or the grunts that escape the room of Coulson, the butler, when Gardner Clinton has the day off.

 

Instead, he daydreams of the razor sharpness of Loki's clever smiles, of the little whistles his breath makes as he sleeps. Rest becomes impossible when he sees the fan of Loki's lashes across his plump cheeks.

 

Thor grows ever certain that he shall have no other.

 

* * *

 

When Thor is seventeen, the worst secret of his family is revealed.

 

His mother, Frigga weeps over their dinner as she tells Loki of his true parentage.

 

Loki is furious, full of betrayal and rage. He is a whirlwind of destruction, ripping his bedroom to shreds and smashing fine china. And when he is finished, he comes to Thor just as he should, curling into his arms. Thor comforts him with meaningless platitudes of brotherly love and devotion.

 

He sees it as fate; Loki is not of his flesh but he is Thor's all the same, and the new issues of parentage mean less work to do when he finally makes Loki his own in body as well as mind.

 

* * *

 

"I'm Steve Rogers," says the man, his deep voice unexpected in his tiny frame. He's small, but he certainly isn't timid; he looks Loki dead in the eyes when he speaks.

 

"Loki Lafeyson," he replies, and they shake hands.

 

The rest is tortuous history.

 

* * *

 

They pant together, chests heaving. They're shiny with perspiration, and Loki can still feel Steven clasped around him, wet and slick and still spasming in pleasure.

 

He slips the blanket around them, and leans in to press his lips to Steve's again, to enjoy the salt and tang of his skin.

 

The door bursts in with a crash.

 

"Broth-"

Thor does not finish his sentence, his eyes wide.

 

Steve scrambles away from Loki with an almost inhuman burst of speed, and Loki tosses the blanket over his skinny frame. He has no need to fear his own nakedness, least of all in front of his own brother.

 

Thor remains silent, an alarming development in one notorious for being loud.

 

"How long," says Thor, at last.

 

Of all the things to ask, Loki thinks. He remains silent.

 

Thor stares hard at him, golden complexion growing steadily redder in anger.

 

"How long, Loki."

 

Loki still offers no answer; there is no place for his brother in his affairs.

 

"How long," Thor roars at him, and Steve flinches from somewhere behind him.

 

"Six months," give or take, says Loki, "though it was just now that we progressed into...fleshly matters." He sounds slicker than an oil spill, cool and composed in the face of Thor's growing ire.

 

"What business is it of yours, anyway?"

 

"What business," Thor begins, choking off. "What business, brother. You are my business, you and your filth and your lies and whatever else the two of you bring into this house."

 

"The horrors you have wrought upon our house, Loki; our mother could scarcely live through the shame of it all-"

 

"Speak not to me about our mother," says Loki. "I grow tired of hearing about her feelings on every matter, especially ones of such a...carnal nature."

 

"You joke with me," says Thor, growing louder with each word. "You would have us all dead if it meant more time for your perversions; you care naught for the shame you will have brought us, laying with men as though you are some sort of common slut."

 

"And you," he says, turning to Steven. "I allowed you into my home, gave you shelter where no other would take you...I nursed you back from your weakness and your illness and this is how you repay me."

 

Steven sits, white lipped and trembling. Loki wants to gather him up, to shield him-

 

"I'm not ashamed."

"I'm not ashamed," says Steve again, with that deep voice of his. "I'm ain't ashamed to be in love and I'm ain't ashamed of your brother and if you hafta have me dragged down the streets like a dog I still ain't gonna change my mind."

 

His blue eyes are crackling with intensity, focused not on Thor, but rather on Loki himself.

 

"Get up," says Thor, gesturing at Steve. He won't, can't look either of them in the face. To do so, he thinks, might burn him alive. 

 

He snags Steven's trousers from where they lay carelessly on the floor, torn off in the reckless throes of passion. He tosses them to him.

 

"Get dressed and wait downstairs. I have a need to conference with my brother- alone."

 

Steven is slow to action, gaze fraught with worry- not for himself, but for Loki.

 

"Go," says Loki. "Go there and wait for me."

 

Steven nods, doing the last buttons on his fraying pants and jacket. They're old and well-loved; he'd always refused the offer of new clothes. 

Now, at least, Thor knows why. 

 

They are silent as Steven's shoes thump down the staircase, each step a nail in a possible coffin.

 

"Do you mean to kill me, then?"

"Will you throw me to the dogs, let them feast of me? Or perhaps you mean to go to the police; have me arrested and shortly murder-"

 

"I have a friend," says Thor, interrupting his tirade. "In the South."

 

"You will go; pack your bags and travel light. I will convince mother and father that you had a sudden itch to see the  countryside and feel the warmth on your skin, and that you felt it would afford Steven an excellent view of the coast. You will not ask questions. You will not return at your expected time; later research will find you missing or presumed dead. Mother will cry; hell, we'll all cry. But you will be safe, and rid of us as your heart so desires. This is my last gift to you brother. Partake in it wisely."

 

And with that he leaves, boots thumping heavily on the staircase.

 

* * *

 

If Thor were honest with himself, he would admit that the shock of seeing Loki lay with Steven was a mere pretense.

 

He’d caught them before, in his father’s study. He had gone to find a certain book for his mother, something about flowers or whatever it was she spent her time on.

 

He’d found them instead.

 

Pressing his eye to the crack of the door, he’d watched them writhe together, sprawled out amongst the books.

 

In his unspoken fantasies, Thor had always imagined Loki under him- wild, clawing, taking, but still submissive to him and his desires.

 

How wrong he was.

 

Loki was very much in control. His hair hung like strands of ink as he held Steven down with one pale, strong hand, rutting against him, pressing him into the scattered papers and curling the other hand over his mouth to keep him silent.

 

Thor had watched for what felt like hours; sweat bathing his collar and the arms of his shirt. He could not tear his eyes away from the heavy rise and fall of Steven’s chest as Loki shuffled him out of his clothing, or the thin fingers Loki sucked into his mouth and later moved below.

  
They were fascinating, abhorrently arousing. Thor hated them.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> out of all the stories i've written, i think this one's my favorite.   
> i may update this again, though i can't seem to finish it.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed :)


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